


tipsy topsy smirk

by honeypottrap



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Lactation Kink, M/M, Male Lactation, Under-negotiated Kink, Verbal Humiliation (Slight), buckle in folks, not even god can kinkshame me, we've all seen him. somebody had to do it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-13
Updated: 2018-04-13
Packaged: 2019-04-22 00:03:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14296332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeypottrap/pseuds/honeypottrap
Summary: c: i agree, the natural progression of auston getting injured is for him to start lactating and get milked by matt martin in a car park(“Oh, kid. You have no idea what you’re doing, do you?”)





	tipsy topsy smirk

**Author's Note:**

> >tw for mentions of irl families and WAGs  
> >tw for semi-public... milking? there's no actual sex in this but is very solidly in kink territory  
> >auston doesn't have a particularly bad go of this, but **if you’re prone to body dysphoria you might wanna click away**
> 
>  major thanks to stromer! you're very incredible thank you for listening to me babble about this even before it was done.
> 
> [prompt](https://thesinbin.dreamwidth.org/3790.html?thread=4766670#cmt4766670)

Auston’s out again, fuck. What is he, made of glass? Even Mitch knows to stay away for the first couple of days as the frustration works its way out of his system.

Matt Martin is… not the person he expected to be spending his time with. Like, he’s _Mitch’s_ friend-- whatever they have going on, it’s pretty clear that it’s an exclusively one on one thing, so Auston hasn’t really hung out with him without Mitch, and even then, Mitch was always somehow soaking up his attention through texts and snaps, needy as can be.

It’s kind of awkward, being around him, because he’s been a healthy scratch for who knows how long-- he’s depth that they don’t need, not anymore. To be far, it means he wasn’t on the ice to kick the ass of the people who crushed Auston’s shoulder, so. Maybe he’s not as unnecessary as Auston’d thought, though he’d never say anything like that to his face. But the way it is? There’s no room for complaining, for wallowing in self-pity, because Matt just levels him with an unimpressed look at any mention of playing again. Auston might be injured, but Matt’s healthier than he’s ever been.

Speaking of health, the check-ups are getting worse-- Auston doesn’t _think_ he’s healing especially slowly, but the trainers keep pushing back their timeline of when he can get his hands on a stick again, and he’s getting anxious. His shoulder-- it still hurts, so they’re right to do it, probably, but at this point, how much time is he going to have left, before playoffs? Babs just looks grim, almost disappointed, and Auston knows there’s no way it’s in _him personally,_ but. It’s hard not to take it that way. He’s taken to keeping his cardio up as best he can, using the stationary bike til his shoulder aches a little bit too much, maybe. He can’t afford not to be back as soon as possible.

And— it was maybe a mistake, in hindsight, but Reemer hasn’t shut up about his vitamins the entire time Auston’s known him, and Auston figured it was better than waiting around hoping to get better. It’s not anything big, not anything obviously unnatural-- just a supplement to stop himself from losing his conditioning, his mass.

Auston isn't one to get self-conscious of his body. or, at least, he knows he shouldn’t. It’s impossible to pay attention to fashion without getting a little wistful at the limitations of his body, but he’s not stupid enough to do much about it. He’s playing in the NHL, and it gets the job done. As long as he’s not going to break getting smashed into the boards, he’s happy. Just-- this is a whole other level of weird. A little worrying, maybe.

Here’s the thing-- his chest has started to hurt. It’s ignorable, almost, only noticeable when he presses on them, but it’s getting increasingly uncomfortable to lie on his stomach, and it’s pretty close to his ribs, his lungs, right? So he’s planning on bringing it up the next time he gets looked over, even if it’s a little awkward. It’s not like the guy hasn’t seen his dick, before, so this should be pretty much nothing, assuming he doesn’t end up asking too many questions. A questionable supplement would get him in trouble at best.

Only-- and it absolutely could be a placebo effect, because it’s not _magic_ , but. He’s making progress.

“Oh, wow.” The guy says, testing his range of motion, digging his fingers into the tendon. “This is looking a _lot_ better.”

“Yeah?” Auston can’t keep the hopeful tone out of his voice. He’s so tired of waiting around, healing.

“To be honest, we were worried about it before. You weren’t making much progress, but it looks like your body’s making up for lost time. Extra rest must’ve encouraged it along.”

“Oh.” Auston swallows. Extra rest. Right.

“Any other problems? Is your painkiller dose still fine? You should be able to start drills again by the end of the week, if this keeps up.”

“Yeah, it’s good. I’m good.” Auston lies, hunching in on himself a little bit, but the guy just pats him on the back as he moves to put his shirt back on.

“I’ll talk to the training staff, see what I can do to help rush it along.” The guy winks, and Auston smiles, trying to keep the hope from showing on his face. Trying to ignore the prickling guilt.

It doesn’t stop there. Babs stops him in the hallway after the team’s practice.

“Heard you’re making progress. I’m glad to hear it-- we need you out there.” 

_We need you out there_ , Auston thinks with slight despair. So, he’s not going to stop.

And— well. He should’ve expected it would get worse, the… side effect, but he’s also getting better. He finally gets cleared to stickhandle a bit, right on schedule, and it’s so thrilling that Auston almost forgets why he was worried until he starts putting on his pads. 

The tenderness has gotten worse, but it’s-- they don’t fit as well. Over his pecs. It hurts a little, to have them pressing on his chest. It’s so uncomfortable that Auston doesn’t think he’d be able to wear them without his underarmour (not that he was planning on going bare under the pads, Tyler Seguin-style, but still). It’s enough to dampen the excitement of being able to shoot again, and it sticks in the back of his mind like glue.

\--

Auston’s over at Pat and Christina’s, watching the Leafs play the Pens on the TV. He’s only feeling _slightly_ sorry for himself, after having to hear the media compare him to Crosby, ‘despite frequent injuries’, because the healthy scratches are there, too, and that’s just awkward. He’s entertaining himself by talking with Steph and a couple of the other WAGs as they all absently watch the game, which is fine until Zaitsev’s daughter starts crying.

“Aw,” Steph cooes, as everyone’s attention gets drawn that direction. “She must be tired.”

Auston’s… not really paying attention, to be honest, because his chest is-- tingling, if he had to find a name for it. It’s a good thing that everyone’s focus has been drawn over to her, trying to soothe her cries, because Auston shifts a little, uncomfortable, and then gasps, because suddenly it’s wet, something soaking down his front, and it’s going to darken his shirt, whatever-it-is, and _holy shit, he’s got to think fast_ because his nipples are honest-to-god leaking _something_. Auston takes a desperate look at his water bottle, mentally apologizes to his expensive shirt, and promptly jams his elbow into the couch, dousing himself in water.

It’s cold, _urgh_ , but it works, because when Steph glances over, “Hey, Auston--“ she cuts herself off to laugh.

“Oops?” Auston offers, pasting on a smile, and he’s really got to get out of there, figure out what the fuck is going on, when a hand lands on his shoulder.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure we can find an extra shirt you can wear somewhere.” Matt says, digging his fingers in a little, and Auston stiffens. “We’ll be back in a second, Syd,”

Auston lets himself be led out into the hallway, lets his back knock into the wall when Matt corners him.

“Everything alright, Matts?” he asks, gaze raking down his front, and Auston nods, cheeks burning.

“Yeah, I just-- accidentally spilled it.”

“Just an accident?” Matt asks nonchalantly, and Auston wonders if the way his heart is racing is audible. He must’ve seen, there’s no way he didn’t, not with the way he’s acting, but Auston’s not about to expose himself. Deny, deny, deny.

“Yeah. Clumsy off the ice, I guess.”

Matt lets it go with little fuss, shrugging, like his attitude didn’t just completely do a 180. “Whatever you say, kid. Let me know if you need help.”

He’s almost nice about it, after that, just finds him a shirt and leaves Auston to change in the bathroom. Auston locks the door, wedges a hairbrush behind the handle for good measure, and hurriedly pulls the damp shirt over his head. It’s only a mild relief that the discharge isn’t bloody. His chest is still tingling, still leaking watery liquid down his stomach, and it smells sweet-- oh. 

He’s lactating.

“What the fuck.” Auston whispers, breath catching. He wipes it away, but more beads up almost immediately, hot and wet, and he can’t help but repeat the process compulsively, only stopping when his nipples have been rubbed raw, his chest an angry red that stings when he touches it. 

“Auston? You okay in there?” Matt asks, and Auston’s hands scramble as they fly to the door, checking to make sure it’s still locked.

“Yeah,” Auston calls, and his voice sounds a little high pitched. “I’ll be out in a minute.” he says, eyeing the shirt he’d been given with despair. It’s white-- will definitely go transparent if he leaks when he puts it on, which he will. He can tell from the pressure, from the way he still feels like he’s sprung a leak. He’s gotta do _something_.

He ends up leaned over the sink in the cramped bathroom, biting his lip to muffle his whimpers as he practically wrings out his chest, pulling on already aching nipples until the steady stream of milk stops. He blinks away the tears in his eyes and twists a bit harder for good measure, swallowing a pained cry from the back of his throat. His chest is almost throbbing at this point, but when he cleans himself up and pulls on the shirt, there aren’t any spots. He gives himself one last once-over in the mirror, hopes his eyes aren’t too obviously red.

Matt only gives him a slightly concerned look as he returns to the living room, and Auston’s fine for the rest of the night, even if he can’t help but obsessively glance down every few minutes to make sure there’s no… accidents.

\--

It’s probably too much to hope that it would just go away, but it doesn’t pose a problem again for long enough that Auston manages to avoid thinking about it, beyond the way that his chest chafes so, so easily now, never quite recovering from the rough treatment that night at Pat’s. Auston finds himself wearing his softest, loosest pajama shirts when he lounges around at home, trying his damned hardest to ignore everything about it, so his next problem doesn’t exactly become evident until a few days later, when he’s getting dressed for a media interview about his injury, his recovery time.

And-- alright. Auston will be the first one to admit that he likes his clothes tight. He thinks it looks good, and he's had enough stares at the way fabric pulls tight over his body that he knows other people think it looks good, too. The button gaps over his abs, the strain from his waist and shoulders are nothing new, and if he's being honest, it usually bulges over his chest as well, but, this time it's--

He can't actually close the buttons. The shirt doesn't fit.

He chances a glance in the mirror and regrets it, nearly swallowing his tongue, because he's a _sight_. His eyes can't stop skittering over his figure, over the way his pecs are practically spilling out of the shirt-- open over the last button he could do, like he’s had his bodice ripped in some dumb romance novel. 

There’s no way this shirt is the same one he’d bought over the summer, because it doesn’t _fit_ , except it definitely is. Now that he’s focused on the distended swell of his chest, he can feel the same aching pressure from before.

He nearly ends up late to the ACC, wearing a too-large shirt that’s not actually too large at the moment. The scrape of the fabric over his nipples is almost too much, almost has him visibly wincing during his interview, but he doesn’t leak. Small blessings.

He runs into Matt on his way to his car, looking like he’d just finished practice, and his stomach drops as he forces himself to stop him. He can’t go on like this. Knows he has to do something.

“You—“ Auston says, hesitant. “You know I have a problem?”

“Not your shoulder.” Matt says, eyes flicking momentarily down to his chest, and Auston tries not to squirm.

“Not my shoulder,” Auston echoes.

Matt glances behind him. “My car’s right there. Come on.”

Auston follows him, sits awkwardly in the passenger seat.

“So, well-- it’s just, these past few weeks, my chest-- like some kind of side effect,” Auston rambles, and Matt stops him.

“I think I’m going to need to you say it.”

“It’s just--” _Oh, God._ Auston doesn’t think he can say it out loud. Matt sighs.

“Let me see.”

It’s-- Auston spares a quick glance around. His windows are tinted, and they’re in a parking garage, sure, but it’s-- there are _other people’s cars._

“Come on.” Matt says, reaching over to start unbuttoning Auston’s shirt, and Auston’s breath catches in his throat. He doesn’t stop him, just lets him do it, lets his shirt fall open.

Matt makes a noise, and Auston can’t speak, feels frozen.

“Oh, kid.” Matt says, taking in the tender, reddened state of his nipples. “You have no idea what you’re doing, do you?”

Auston manages to find his voice, not that it does him much good. He still can’t quite form sentences. “It’s just until I get better, I swear, but I don’t-- I can’t do the-- it hurts, when I try.”

Matt looks skeptical.

“And Freddie doesn’t know? Isn’t helping you out with this?”

“Wh-- why would Freddie know?” Auston says, immediately flustered, and Matt regards him, pauses. 

“He can’t know.” Auston says quickly, stomach dropping at the thought. He-- he likes Freddie, a lot. Definitely more than a teammate should. Doesn’t want to have to deal with him finding out about the stuff he’s taking on the side to rush his recovery, doesn’t think he could handle the look of disappointment. And-- he needs to get better. For him. For the team.

Auston’s hands are shaking by his sides when Matt leans forward, takes him into his hand and squeezes. Milk starts to dribble out, slicking up his fingers, and Matt glances up at Auston. 

“You weren’t kidding, huh?” He says, teasing smile pulling at his lips. Auston bites his lip against any sounds.

“Well. Don’t make a mess in my car.” Matt says, pulls off his jacket to hand to Auston, and barely gives him a chance to question why before he’s pinching Auston’s nipple, dragging down, and the flow starts.

“Oh,” Auston can’t help but gasp, shifting so he’s leaned into Matt’s hands, because he’s sensitive, but it’s not the same as when he does it himself. It’s almost bearable, assuming Auston doesn’t think about the fact that he’s literally being milked by a teammate in plain sight, where anyone could look through the front window. Where anyone could see Matt coaxing milk from his chest, soaking into the balled up hoodie. 

And, well. That’s entirely bearable. Kind of arousing, actually. Auston tries and fails to keep himself from getting hard, but Matt doesn’t say anything about it, just keeps working him over-- confident. Steady.

It’s over almost too soon, and Matt takes his jacket back to mop up at his hands, wrinkling his nose slightly at the touch of damp fabric. He tosses it to the ground, turns to address Auston. Auston beats him to it.

“Thank you.”

“Sure. Just give me a warning next time, alright?” Matt says, scrubbing his hands on his jeans. Auston can only imagine how they feel-- his chest feels sticky, almost. It’s entirely unpleasant, but all Auston can think about is getting off after this.

“Yes-- sorry. Thanks you.” Auston repeats, a little mindlessly. Matt looks unimpressed, like he knows what Auston’s thinking, and, well, maybe he does. His dress slacks don’t leave much to the imagination.

“You gonna get out of my car?”

“Right. I’ll just--” Auston opens the door, stumbles out, still buttoning up his shirt. It’s not a particularly lofty achievement, in the grand scheme of things, but Auston’s proud of himself for managing to wait until he gets home to jerk off. That would be a hit to his pride that he’s not sure he could take.

\--

The Leafs are winning without Auston, and it would probably bother him a little bit, the way they’ve seamlessly adjusted to playing without him, if he wasn’t a little starstruck by it. Well. By Freddie. It’s not exactly a new thing.

They’re in the hallway after the game-- Freddie’s showered, interviews finished, and Auston’s a little high off the win. A little high off of Freddie, standing so close after he made 46 saves to secure the win. Christ.

“You were _incredible_ out there.” Auston says, breathless, and takes in the way Freddie’s shoulders straighten as he looks at Auston, a smirk twisting his lips.

“Yeah?” Freddie hums, looking smug, and there’s so much in that one word. It’s an offer.

“Yeah.” Auston stutters slightly, off balance. He knows what it is, knows what it could mean, for him, for _them_ , but the hopeful spark is extinguished by the way his chest feels heavy. Full.

Fuck. 

There’s no way he can hide this, no way he can hook up like this. He leans back, imperceptibly, and Freddie takes in his change of body language with a frown.

He looks disappointed, almost, which nearly has Auston backtracking, but he knows he can’t.

“Like-- yes, but I just-- I can’t. I’m sorry.” Auston flounders, trying to soften the rejection. Freddie nods, pats him gently on his injured shoulder.

“You’re fine. Don’t apologize,” He orders, almost, and Auston swallows the ‘ _sorry_ ’ on his tongue. Freddie cites needing to get home, a little transparently, but Auston lets him leave. Can’t exactly stop him, not if he’s going to commit to keeping this secret of this under wraps.

He stands there for a while, running through possible scenarios where he wouldn’t have to be alone right now, but there’s not much of a choice. He does what he has to-- he calls Matt, lets himself be taken back to his apartment, where Matt lets himself inside and empties Auston’s chest, steady and firm.

“You seem quieter, tonight. Not into it?” Matt prompts, tweaking a nipple, and Auston tenses just thinking about it.

“I think-- I think something could’ve happened tonight, with--” _Freddie_ , he doesn’t say. He’s not sure how much he _should_ say. “But I couldn’t, because of this.”

“All this for me, then.” Matt says with a twist of his mouth.

He’s not sure if he’s imagining the way Matt’s hands get a little more friendly after that, the way his smile gets a little more sly. It takes Auston’s breath away, just a little bit, and it’s familiar-- the way his eyes snag on Matt’s hands, the way he gets all warm inside when Matt comes over to help him with this. If he sometimes thinks about a different pair of hands helping him along, in a world where Freddie would actually understand, then, well. It’ll be over soon enough.

\--

“Now? You’re kidding.”

Matt sounds a little ticked off about having to get to the ACC and leave Syd a bit earlier than normal, but the desperation in Auston’s voice does it. It’s his first game back and he still hasn’t completely stopped producing milk, won’t be able to stand it under his pads unless he does _something_. Matt’s still scratched, and while he doesn’t say anything, his tone seems a little darker than normal over the phone. 

He pulls out the breast pump this time, and Auston winces because it’s so much worse, feeling the unnatural tug, but he doesn’t complain, not even when Matt sets it up and turns it on high, citing the clock.

“You’re really cutting it close this time. Maybe I should tell someone you’re going to be late?”

“Don’t--“ Auston starts, nearly panting at the suction, the way it’s drawing inside, drawing _out_. “Don’t fucking tell anyone about this.”

Matt hums thoughtfully, gives Auston’s chest a generous grope. “These still haven’t quite gone away, huh? Almost like you’ve got real breasts.” he says, and a bolt of shame flashes through Auston, but it’s coupled with arousal. Matt doesn’t miss his shiver, takes it as an excuse to keep going.

“Maybe they’ll stay like this. Have the other guys said anything? Surely they’ve noticed by now, changing in the locker room.”

Auston shakes his head, but he’s thinking about it, now. Thinking about fleeting second-glances and whispered rumors behind his back. Is it noticable? Auston’s noticed, that’s for sure, in the way things don’t quite fit like the used to.

“They’re too shy to say anything, maybe. Too polite to tell you you’ve got tits, now.” Matt smirks, and Auston can’t hold back a noisy breath.

"Oh, God." Auston groans, throwing his head back and pressing forward into Matt's hands. He shifts in his seat, subconsciously seeking friction, _anything._ His pants feel so constricting, and it’s not enough--

"Hey, take it easy," Matt warns, withdrawing, and Auston misses his touch immediately.

“You know I can’t do anything about that.” Matt says, giving Auston’s dick a quick squeeze. Auston curses the way his hips jolt forward. God. He must seem so fucked up-- turned on despite how weird this is, despite how it’s ruining his chances with Freddie. 

And that-- it doesn’t feel like it matters much, right now. He feels mindless with it, ashamed but so, so turned on. Desperate enough that he’d let it happen, even though Matt’s engaged. 

_Please,_ Auston thinks, and it must show on his face, because Matt shakes his head.

“I don’t care how much you want it-- you’ll have to take care of that yourself. If you have time, that is.” 

Auston looks up the clock and swears-- hurriedly pulls off the pump and swipes at the rest before buttoning up his shirt, pulling his suit jacket on. It doesn’t feel _over_ \-- he doesn’t feel empty, and he hasn’t gotten himself off, but if he doesn’t hurry, he’s going to be late. He hunches his shoulders a bit, hopes he won’t leak until he’s got his underarmour on, when he can play it off as sweat.

“Not done?” Matt says, pointedly observant, and Auston shrugs, trying to appear unconcerned. “We’ll get it next time.”

 _Next time_ , Auston echoes in his mind, tries to push down on the anticipation. He thought it’d be over a week ago-- he should be feeling more apprehension, more worry, not this. He _should_ be thinking of getting help, of telling someone, but that would mean telling them about--

“You want this?” Matt sloshes the bottles of milk at him, sounding a little mean, and Auston glares even as he turns red. 

“Fuck you. Just get rid of it.”

No one says anything when Auston hurries inside, cheeks still ruddy, still half hard. He avoids eye contact as he strips, but he can still feel prickling gazes over his figure. At this point, he’s not sure if they’re real or imagined-- Matt’s words have gotten inside his head, keeping him flustered even as he dresses facing the wall. 

His pads still feel a little uncomfortable, tight against his chest, but Freddie offers him a hesitant smile when he finally pulls his jersey over his head.

“Good to have you back, Juice.” Freddie says, quiet and fond, and Auston nods, longing returning in full force. _It’ll be over soon,_ he reminds himself, and tries not to worry about when.

**Author's Note:**

> further quotations that did not make it into the summary:
> 
> `"idk if like... public milking... is a tag you can use" - cc`
> 
> `"does auston has tiddies??? 'scientifically, yes!' " - perry`  
> \--
> 
> hope you enjoyed... whatever this is! comments appreciated as always.


End file.
